


I, Spy

by gwill424



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 09:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13567248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwill424/pseuds/gwill424
Summary: An Age of Sail AU for psykerscum on tumblr, featuring character's belonging to inqusitorradcliffe.August King serves as the executive officer under Captain Gabriel Radcliffe of the brig RAMPANT. Caught up in the fires of the American Revolution, the crew of the RAMPANT is asked by General Washington himself to ferry a seemingly unimportant woman from Boston to New York. But the transit is far from peaceful, and their passenger is not at all what she appears to be. Chased at every turn by the mighty Royal Navy, will Radcliffe and King reach New York unscathed, or will they be crushed beneath England's wooden walls?





	I, Spy

The gulls turned in the air, their cries carrying across the wharfs in a cacophony of screeching. They mixed with the sound of waves lapping against the hulls of fishing boats and mail packets. Men and women crowded the docks. They shouted and catcalled, buying and selling everything from fish to wood stock to canvas and all in between. Boston Harbor was always busy, regardless of wind, weather, tide or time.

August King sat on an upturned barrel at the foot of a dock and waited, a chewed piece of bread in his hand. He had lost interest in the food some time ago and had resorted to sprinkling crumbs across the wood for the birds to eat. He sighed, and looked up at the sky, gauging the time by the placement of the sun in the sky. He’d been sitting here for two hours. King balled the bread in his fist and threw the remainder into the water. It struck with a heavy  _ plop _ and disappeared. He scanned the crowd one more time and desperately wished he know more about his contact other than their name. To be fair, it wasn’t even a name. Just a letter.

Q.

“He would send me for this bullshit,” King muttered. He glanced towards the harbor where a hundred masts rose into the air like a floating forest. Out there, bobbing in the water like a cork, was the  _ Rampant _ , a two-masted brig of fourteen guns. Her captain, by all accounts a fair an even-keeled man who had grown up in the Royal Navy and become disenfranchised at the onset of war, had sent King ashore to complete this task and pick up the contact they would be ferrying to New York. King felt he had made a mistake.

“Excuse me.”

King looked up. A woman stood before him. Her dress was the color of wine with a cream colored jacquard for contrast. Her hair was pulled back neatly under her hat and a parasol rested on her shoulder, shielding her from the sun. She smiled, stunning King as surely as if he had been slapped across the face. Something in her eyes hinted at a playful exuberance hidden by the necessary propriety of social norm. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I’m trying to find my way to New York.” Her face turned down into a well practiced pout. “But unfortunately many of these ships here are either not going south, or want too much coin for their trouble. Would you…?” Her smile came back, bright and hopeful as she looked at King with pleading eyes.

King glanced towards the end of the pier. “Well, ma’am, my ship is going to New York, that’s true. But we are already engaged with another passenger and don’t have the space to spare for another.” He smiled apologetically.

Her face fell. “Oh, poo. Another miss.” She sighed and turned away.

King watched her go. He sighed, and then called out to her. “Er, wait, ma’am!” She turned and looked over her shoulder at him. “Might I inquire your name? I could pass it along and maybe speed up your search.”

“Oh, you’re a saint,” she said with a smile. “My name is Quincy. Quincy Culper.”

Something about the way she said her last name gave him pause.  _ Culper _ . Quincy Culper.  _ Q Culper. _ He stood and brushed loose breadcrumbs from his jacket. “Beg your pardon, Miss Culper, but I think you may actually just be who I’m waiting for after all. New York bound, you say?”

“Yes, sir, Mister….”

“King, ma’am. August King.”

 

“You’re sure it is her?” Gabriel Radcliffe looked over steepled fingers as King stood in front of his desk. The men had been conversing for only a scant few minutes, but tension was already running high. Tensions had been fair since Radcliffe had accepted this assignment, but one did not refuse a direct request from George Washington himself.

“Positive, sir. Her first initial and her last name leave little doubt in my mind.”

Radcliffe reclined in his chair, eyes shifting from King’s face to the wooden doors that sealed off his cabin from the rest of the ship. Quincy Culper stood just beyond, waiting for them to finish their conversation. “What doubts do you have?” he asked.

King blinked. The question confused him. “Just the usual superstitions, I suppose. A woman aboard a ship at sea is always bad luck, especially when she’s the only one.”

Radcliffe nodded, but didn’t look satisfied. In his mind he was debating and extrapolating the myriad reasons General Washington could have for moving one of his spies from Boston down to New York. The war was moving south, into the Chesapeake region and Carolinas. If Washington wanted a spy in the war, surely there would be more prudence in shifting her there, and not New York. But then again, New York was still in British hands. Perhaps the General wanted more eyes on General Clinton, who had recently replaced William Howe as commander of British forces in the colonies.

“Very well, August. Send Miss Culper in so I may speak with her, and then prepare the men for sea. I want us gone with the tide.”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

 

_ Rampant _ flew, skimming the waves with the agility of a ship half her size. They were already a day into their three day journey and making good time with the wind at their backs. Full canvas snapped and lines drew taught. Stars in the night sky overhead lit the deck, aided by the full moon. August King stood by the helm, his hands firmly gripping the spokes as he kept the brig on course. Most of the crew was abed, with only a handful of sailors up and about to keep the ship right. If more were needed, they could be roused from their hammocks with a blow of the boatswain’s whistle, but until then, they slept.

Quincy sat in her cabin, if it could truly be called that. It was more like a space on the berth deck that had been set aside and isolated by raising canvas tarps to serves as impromptu walls. It was privacy, but not by much. Worse was the damn cot she was stuck with. She hadn’t expected to be pampered in the lap of luxury on this voyage, but good Christ, was there no better mattress? The rolling of the ship finally forced her out of her cabin for the sake of her flipping stomach. Quincy stood and tiptoed to the companionway, using the light filtering down from above as a guide.

The fresh air topside cleared her head of the stuffiness of her makeshift quarters. The smell of salt and pine tar was intoxicating, a heady scent offered by the marriage of ship and sea. She inhaled deeply and found her footing. The deck was empty. A few sailors stared at her from the dark corners they had chosen to rest in, eyes bright with suspicion and mistrust. A woman at sea was never welcomed. It was considered a bad omen. Quincy smiled politely and walked aft. She wouldn’t give them a reason to hate her more if she could help it. The air was tense enough as it was already.

Quincy found the ladder to the quarterdeck and climbed it. “Ah, Mister King,” she said, placing a hand on her chest. “Finally, some decent company.”

King cocked a brow. “Not getting along too well with the crew, Miss Culper?”

“Not the few I’ve met, no.” She sighed and leaned on the rail, looking down to the main deck. “Not that I’ve had the chance, cooped up as I’ve been in my quarters.”

“Sailors are a dim and superstitious lot.”

“Does that include your captain?” Quincy glanced sideways at him.

King let the question hang for a moment before he answered. “No,” he replied. “Radcliffe is a sharp man, and not given to the basic superstitions of sea life. He has been around too long for that.”

“He doesn’t trust easily though, does he?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Wise of him.”

“And what about you?”

“I don’t trust anyone either.”

King smirked. “I’ll remember that, Miss Culper.”

She smiled at him. “I hope so, Mister King. I hope so. Goodnight.”

 

King roused from his hammock to the lookout’s cry. “Sail ho!” The typical morning haze cleared from his mind in an instant. He pulled his pants on, threw his vest over his bare chest, and decided to forgo shoes before sprinting topside. Radcliffe was already there, aiming a spyglass across their aft port quarter.

“What is it?” King asked.

“Schooner,” Radcliffe said, lowing the glass and squinting at the white pip just visible in front of the horizon. “Six guns, maybe eight. British ensign.”

“Chasing us?”

“Seems to be. Shadowing at the very least.”

“What are we to do?”

Radcliffe’s lips pulled into a thin line and he raised the spyglass again. “Keep running,” he said at last. “The more distance we can cover the better. If he’s here…” He trailed off, panning the spyglass back and forth across the sea. “... no doubt the rest of his squadron is as well.”

 

A shot sailed over their heads for the third time in fifteen minutes. It missed, landing with a splash just off the  _ Rampant’s _ starboard bow. The schooner had closed the distance rapidly, going from a speck on the horizon to a credible threat in under five hours. “Persistent bastard, isn’t he?” King said. “Why is he challenging us? We could take him easily in a fight. We outgun him two to one.”

Radcliffe swept his spyglass forward, towards the bow of the ship. “Because he either does not expect us to stand and fight or-”

“Sail ho! Three points off the port bow! Square! Looks like a frigate!”

Radcliffe swore. “He knows he’s got help coming.” He collapsed the spyglass and turned to the helmsman. “Mister Mallow, please adjust our course three points south-southwest.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Three points south-southwest.” Remus Mallow hauled hard on the wheel.  _ Rampant _ protested at the sudden course change, but obeyed in the end.

“And Mister King, let’s put on some more sail.”

“Aye, sir.” King leaned over the railing and bellowed at the boatswain's’ mates below. “Let loose all canvas, course to t’gallant if you please!” The shrill piping of whistles quickly carried his order to the highest yards. Canvas spilled free, hanging in the wind before catching it and snapping taught.  _ Rampant _ bucked and lurched as she put on speed, a greyhound finally unleashed.

“What on earth is going on?”

Both men looked at Quincy as she climbed the steps to the quarterdeck. She looked green. Sea life still had not found her, even after a day and a half. She had a hand atop her hat, keeping it in place and she braced herself against the hammock rails with her other hand. “All this rocking and rolling. Is it really…” She paused, putting a hand to her mouth to burp. “Is it really necessary?”

“Not unless you would like them to catch us and hang you,” Radcliffe replied. 

Quincy swallowed, a hand rubbing at her throat. “N-no, thank you.”

“As long as we can keep ahead of them until nightfall, we can lose them in the dark.”

King frowned. Dusk was still several hours away, and both the schooner and frigate were closing fast. “Do you really think we can keep that chase up?” he asked quietly.

Radcliffe glanced sideways at him. “We don’t have a choice, do we Mister King?”

King didn’t reply.

 

The evening sun dipped low, just kissing the horizon. The crew of the  _ Rampant _ had been standing at their stations for almost ten hours now. They were tired and weary. But they couldn’t rest yet. Their pursuers were determined. Although the frigate had begun to fall behind, the schooner pressed on, matching  _ Rampant _ knot for knot. Radcliffe had identified her as HMS  _ Swiftsure _ , and she was doing her best to live up to her name. “Persistent bastard, isn’t he?” King growled.

“You sound jealous,” Radcliffe chided.

King huffed. “We should turn and take him. The frigate is too far behind to give aid.”

“That is probably precisely what he wants,” Radcliffe replied. “To pull us into an engagement and buy time for his friend to catch up.”

“But-”

“Enough. Fight smarter, not harder, Mister King, and you will ensure we survive long enough to deliver our passenger to her destination.” He paused, collapsing his spyglass. “Go get some rest. I’ll keep the watch.”

“Aye, sir.” Running didn’t sit well with him. King understood the reasoning for it, even saw it as a necessity under their current circumstances, but it still rankled him. His mood soured as he descended below decks and headed towards his hammock.

“Mister King.” Quincy sat on a mess crate at the bottom of the companionway. “Does Captain Radcliffe intend to run all night?” He tone of voice indicated just what she thought of that plan of action. She smirked slightly. “He must have left his spine ashore.”

King gave her a disdainful look. “I wasn’t aware a lady was supposed to talk like that,” he growled.

“Am I wrong?” She smiled sweetly at him.

“He knows what he’s doing. He’s been a seaman for almost as long as I’ve been alive. I trust him, even if I don’t always agree with him.”

“Well said, Mister King.”

King didn’t look impressed. “If you’ll excuse me, ma’am.” He brushed past her and made for his cabin.

 

Morning came with  _ Swiftsure _ nowhere in sight. Radcliffe’s gamble had worked and the entire crew let out a raucous cheer. Three huzzahs shook the masts as hats were tossed into the air. King grinned as he took the helm. Even Radcliffe looked pleased with himself, allowing an uncharacteristic smirk to cross his features. Darkening the ship in the middle of the night had been a stroke of genius. Radcliffe had then ordered the  _ Rampant _ to break from her course ninety degrees and run perpendicular to  _ Swiftsure _ until the schooner had passed them in the night. When he was sure the British ship was beyond them, Radcliffe had brought  _ Rampant _ back to course in a display of expert seamanship.

Quincy stood off to the port side, her hands laced in front of her. The sea breeze whipped at loose strands of her hair. She smiled. “I must apologize, Captain Radcliffe. I had my doubts. But you have proved me wrong, it seems. For once, I am glad for it.”

“Apology accepted, Miss Culper,” Radcliffe replied. “We should be in New York by noon. Then you can be off.”

Quincy curtsied. “My thanks, Captain.”

“Don’t thank me yet. New York won’t be a walk in the park.”

Radcliffe’s meaning became clear as  _ Rampant  _ approached the harbor. Two first-rate man-o-wars sat anchored at the harbor’s mouth, each one bristling with more than enough guns to sink  _ Rampant _ in a single broadside. They were HMS  _ Excoriator  _ and HMS  _ Invincible _ , and none aboard the meger brig wanted to test them. The stars and stripes had been pulled down well away from their sight and as King brought  _ Rampant _ in within range of the two behemoths, a fluttering red ensign, the mark of England’s merchant fleet, flew in its stead.

King instinctively kept his head down, doing his best to avoid the attention of the sailors he could see on deck and the marines aloft. Their muskets glinted in the morning sun, and King was under no delusion that they could not pick him off where he stood of they so desired, to say nothing of the amount of iron both ships could throw his way if their captains decided they didn’t like the cut of his jib.

_ Rampant _ split the pair without incident, gliding through the water and towards the bustling quays. She found berth between two other merchants, and her crew jumped to action, throwing mooring lines and pulling in canvas. The gangway extended with a clatter and  _ Rampant  _ was home.

“Well, Mister King,” Quincy said. She stepped off onto the pier and giggled slightly as she found her footing on dry land again. “A job well done, though I must say my legs seem to have grown accustomed to a rolling deck.”

King smiled, offering her a hand for those final few steps. “They’ll reacquaint themselves, ma’am,” he assured her. “Happens to the best of us.”

“I’m sure it does.” Quincy looked him up and down. “And please, the next time we meet, no more of this ma’am business. It’s Quincy or nothing at all.”

“Yes, Miss Quincy.”

She rolled her eyes and patted his cheek. “You’ll be a work in progress.” She laughed. “Be well, Mister King. Keep your captain straight.”

“I try every day, ma- Miss Quincy.” King grinned. He couldn’t help but watch Quincy Culper until she disappeared into the throng.


End file.
